


Plain Gold Ring

by baNINA_bread



Category: Game Grumps
Genre: Age Difference, Angst, Cheating, F/M, I am so sorry, Infidelity, Second person POV, Sex, f/m - Freeform, i do not condone cheating, this is based on a crazy dream i had and i woke up unsettled so i had to write it out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-22
Updated: 2017-05-22
Packaged: 2018-11-03 17:41:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10972197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baNINA_bread/pseuds/baNINA_bread
Summary: "He listened to you so well, and always had the perfect response. Wisdom of the years, you thought, scanning the faint lines on his face. Slowly, slowly, you mentally trace the crow's feet that form when he laughs at your tales of stupidity in college, follow every quirk of his heavy brow, count the grey hairs in his beard....The image of a car crash flashes in your mind.When you watch him walk away, the light of the streetlamps glint off of his ring with every step. You will dream of those little lights tonight, just as you dream of the next time you meet."





	Plain Gold Ring

**Author's Note:**

> Jesus Christ, why did I write this... please don't hate me. 
> 
> I am not in any way insinuating that Brian has ever or will ever cheat on his beautiful wife, they are very happy together. This is a work of PURE FICTION borne from a dream i had. It must have been my new meds that made me have strange dreams lately, and I felt very unsettled once I woke up. 
> 
> I also wanted to try challenging myself by writing about something heavy. I've dealt with infidelity before in the form of my dad leaving my mom for another woman, and my ex-girlfriend cheating on me with a friend of mine, so this fic was kind of a release.
> 
> I DO NOT CONDONE CHEATING. THIS FIC IS NOT SUGARCOATING THE FACT THAT CHEATING ON YOUR PARTNER IS A HORRIBLE, HORRIBLE THING TO DO. That being said, please read this as objectively as possible. 
> 
> The title and lyrics are from Nina Simone's "Plain Gold Ring". There's also a Kimbra version that I listened to while writing this.

 

_Plain gold ring, on his finger he wore_

_It was where everyone could see_

 

You first met him on the boardwalk in the early evening. Your elbows on the wooden railing started to chafe, but you couldn't notice it because you'd been too wrapped up in a book you were reading. _War of the Worlds_. Deep down you weren't really enjoying it, but hey. It was for research for the novel you had to write to get paid.

You can't hear the people around you, but you do notice how cool it was getting. Looking up, you noticed the setting sun at the end of the horizon. Pretty, but not enough to keep your mind off the book. You dive back into the book.

“Hey, I couldn't help but notice your bag was gaping open,” a voice said, making you look up.

A stranger with piercing eyes and a well-meaning smile was pointing at your bag, which you did forget was open after you fished for that book. You say thanks.

“Science fiction, huh?” he says as he stands next to you. He looks out into the ocean. You couldn't help but notice the dusting of grey in his full beard. You say you're reading it for research—you never had the heart for alien invasions, truly. He asks what for, and you answer. Science sparks a conversation between you. Him, speaking, you, listening. He's so intelligent without being cocky, and it pulls you in.

You ask for his name and number. For research, of course. He openly gives it to you. You shake his hand after you put the book back in your bag, and notice how his ring finger is occupied.

It's just for research, you think to yourself. He's smart, and you need him.

 

The next time you see each other is a week after the boardwalk. All you knew about him was that his name was Brian, and that he used to be a professor at a university. He's the perfect person to ask about theories in worldbuilding. You try to ignore the fact that you couldn't help but shiver to his voice the last time you talked on the phone.

It's just lunch, you said to yourself in the mirror before leaving the house. A friendly lunch. That's all.

But it wasn't. God, it just wasn't that.

The lunch stretched to dessert, which stretched to an afternoon walk around a park. You learned that could play musical instruments, and that some of his friends were pretty famous. You decided not to ask further. He asks you why you're writing a novel. Ghostwriting, you say. Half of the royalties go to you, so you thought it was a pretty good deal despite the fact that you were completely fucked in the sci-fi department. His laugh is genuine, and he looks at you with so much interest as you speak.

It was like slowly sinking into quicksand.

 

_He belonged to someone, but not me_

_On his hand was a plain gold ring._

 

Two weeks later he asks you how old you are. His expression is unreadable when the both of you realize you're two decades apart. He takes you out for another friendly lunch, but this time he insisted he'd pay. You didn't mind, but you offered to pay for ice cream later. Because friends do that.

Just friends. Of course.

He listened to you so well, and always had the perfect response. Wisdom of the years, you thought, scanning the faint lines on his face. Slowly, slowly, you mentally trace the crow's feet that form when he laughs at your tales of stupidity in college, follow every quirk of his heavy brow, count the grey hairs in his beard.

He notices you staring. “I'm going to shave this off soon,” he says as he rubs his scruff. You tell him he'll look good either way. You also don't know how you allowed yourself to say that out loud.

Later that night he walks you home. He asks about the novel. Your hands touch as the two of you walk, but the both of you try to ignore the spark. At your doorstep, he says goodbye and brushes strands of hair away from your face.

This is too dangerous.

Seconds later, his mouth is on yours and you do absolutely nothing to stop him. The image of a car crash flashes in your mind.

When you watch him walk away, the light of the streetlamps glint off of his ring with every step. You will dream of those little lights tonight, just as you dream of the next time you meet.

 

_Plain gold ring, had a story to tell_

_It was one that I knew too well_

 

A month into whatever you two had, his tongue's in your mouth and you're hastily taking off your blouse. He did shave, but the stubble was growing back. It felt rough on your cheek, your neck, your chest as he slowly made his way down.

He pushes you down onto the bed and kneels between your legs. It had been a long time since somebody worshiped you this way--all the ones you'd dated before had no idea what to once they were down there. All aimless tongues and prodding fingers.

Brian was different. God, he was different.

You feel his whiskers rubbing against the crease of your thigh. The first time his tongue touches you, you see the stars he often talked so deftly about. You teeter at the edges of the universe the whole time his mouth works, and when you are finally pushed off the edge all you see is white.

He does not ask you to return the favor. At the end of the night, he holds you in a way that reminds you how young you are compared to him, how small you are. It's comforting, but when you catch sight of his ring on the bedside table, your chest fills with so much guilt that you sob into his soft chest.

What have I done, you ask nobody in particular. That's right. What have you done?

He says nothing, but he kisses your head. He holds you in the silent aftermath.

 

_In my heart, it will never be spring_

_As long as he wears that plain gold ring._

 

In the times you aren't together, you end up looking him up. Jesus Christ, he had a child. No older than three years old. She has his eyes. You keep digging and find pictures of his wife. She seemed like a good woman, with kind eyes and arms that made you think she could hug away all your problems.

You touch the screen. Could she forgive you?

Could you apologize?

When he comes over, you talk about what you two really are. Facts are everywhere. He is old enough to be your father. You are too young to be entrenched in something like this. His wife doesn't know, but she has an idea. He also doesn't want to leave her.

The two of you need to end this.

You stare at your lap in limbo. He reaches out to hold your hand. Your fingers twine together, like snakes in heat. Wordlessly, you both stand up as he leads you to your bedroom.

“This will be the last time,” he promises. “After this, I'll leave.”

 

_Nighttime comes calling on me_

_I know why I'll never be free_

 

This is unlike the other times you fucked. Slowly you undress each other. You don't look, but you here the familiar sound of his ring meeting the wooden surface of the bedside tabe. At least have some respect. He gently pulls you towards him, and you kiss. He kisses you through the salt of your tears.

When you sink onto him, his calloused hands at your hips, he whispers your name like a prayer. Rain pours in torrents outside. When you rock together, it brings you back to the first time you met him. The ocean was so pretty.

You run your hands across his chest. You've never cried during sex before, you never thought it was possible. Stars started creeping into your vision once more. This is the last time you're going to see them with this man, this beautiful man with horrible timing. How dare he come into your life.

How dare you fall for him.

He sits up and breathes into the space between your breasts, hips keeping in time with yours. You hold him close. He presses open-mouthed kisses above your heart.

You come together with a gasp. The last thought that dances through your mind before you fall asleep is the face of his daughter.

 

_I can't stop these teardrops of mine_

_I'm gonna love him, 'til the end of time._

_Plain gold ring has but one thing to say_

_That I'll remember to my dying day_

 

He leaves after breakfast and well wishes. You make sure to delete your number from his phone yourself. He kisses you goodbye as if you were his child— on the forehead, chaste and lingering. After you close the door behind him, you feel empty.

You never really finished that novel. You erase your browser history, and then take a long shower. You allow hot water to pelt your skin.

The pain is welcome, you thought. I deserve this.

You stayed long enough under the shower that the water ran cold. You'd had too much heat, too much warmth in too short a time. The car crash in your head was now a mess of ash and warped metal. Some cold would do you good.

That night, you slept on your couch. The smell of him was still in the sheets, and you were too tired to pull them all off. The couch would do.

Fast forward to a month later, you still cannot bear to sleep alone in your own bedroom.

The novel goes unfinished.

You no longer see stars when you close your eyes.

 

_In my heart, it will never be spring_

_As long as he wears that plain gold ring._

 

**Author's Note:**

> I am so sorry for this. The topic of infidelity is a bit of a sore spot for me, so writing this felt like a personal catharsis. Again, I know that Brian would never do such a thing to Rachel. This is a work of PURE FICTION, and my subconscious mind is a messy place right now. 
> 
> If you've ever had any experiences with cheating or infidelity, feel free to talk to me. I will not judge, nor will I preach. Please don't hate me.


End file.
